


space to think--

by therjolras



Category: Red Robin (Comics), Teen Titans (Comics), Young Justice (Comics)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Gen, Martha Kent is Great, No editing we die like mne, Pre-New 52, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, canon-typical family drama, i gave him a few, some handwavey canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:15:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21609658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therjolras/pseuds/therjolras
Summary: Timothy Wayne comes to Kansas for breakfast, and to stock Martha Kent's woodpile. Post-Red Robin.
Relationships: Tim Drake & Kon-El | Conner Kent, Tim Drake & Martha Kent, mentioned Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 20
Kudos: 259





	space to think--

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Out Here Hope Remains](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8464060) by [audreycritter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/audreycritter/pseuds/audreycritter). 



> So the idea for this fic was lifted directly from Audreycritter's fantastic fic "Out Here Hope Remains", in particular chapter eight, in which Martha Kent mentions putting Tim to work chopping wood to deal with his anger. I thought a bit about where that anger would come from, and then this happened. This isn't technically linked to my 'like the mob' batfics, but I guess you could read it like it is.

The sun is just coming through the east-facing kitchen windows when Martha hears the sound of a car engine in the yard. She steps out the kitchen door onto the porch, and spots the hulking black car and the young man behind the wheel, and then she steps back inside.

“Conner!” She calls. “Come downstairs, Timothy’s here.”

The sound of rushing air past the back door is confirmation enough that he got the message. Martha goes back to the stove, stopping just long enough to turn on the coffee pot. Ordinarily it would wait until Jon and Conner were done with the chores, but Timothy Wayne had come a long distance. It would be poor hostesship to make him wait.

After a few moments, voices drifted up to the kitchen door. Timothy and Conner appeared at the other side, long enough for Timothy to take his shoes off-- Conner was barefoot, suggesting he’d still been asleep when Martha called-- and Martha set the spatula down to greet them. She gave Tim a hug when he came in.

“Lovely to see you, dear,” she said. “Breakfast will be ready in a few minutes. Are you staying long?”

Tim tentatively returned the hug and then let go. “I’m, um, not sure,” he said. “Sorry for not calling-- it was late, when I booked, I figured by the time it was safe to call I’d already be here.”

“And here you are.” Martha smiled again. “Have a seat, then. Conner, go ahead and get started on your chores. Tim’s not leaving until I’ve fed him, at least.”

Conner gave Tim a sharp look. Tim smiled. “Don’t worry, Kon,” he said. “Ma’s about as difficult to say no to as Alfred.” Conner snorted in response to that and ruffled Tim’s hair-- it was messy enough to suggest that he’d done it before-- and stepped out the porch door before taking off again. Martha waited until Timothy sat down before turning towards the stove.

“So, Tim,” she said. “What brings you to our neck of the woods at this hour? I can imagine it was a long night for you.” Tim chuckled. 

“Um, yeah,” he says. “It was patrol before my flight… but I got some sleep on the plane, so I think I’m good for a while.” Martha hummed. Tim said after a moment, “I was, um, wondering. If you have any wood that needs chopped these days.”

Martha hummed again. “I reckon we could find something for you. Was it a hard night?”

“When isn’t it,” Tim muttered. “I just… I needed to get out of Gotham. Out of the cape, for a while, you know? There are just places where that part of my brain… doesn’t turn off, anymore.”

Martha clicked her tongue and turned her head to check on the coffee pot. “Well, I’m glad that you chose to visit,” she said. “Conner’s always delighted to see you, of course, but Jon and I are always pleased to have you too. You’ve been delightful company to have around.”

Tim went silent. It happened, sometimes: Martha or Jon or Conner said something that he didn’t know how to respond to, immediately. He was unused to people being so open with him. Side effect of having Bruce Wayne for a caretaker, probably: the poor man had such a hard time using his words. Tim finally managed a small thank-you, and Martha smiled.

“You’re always welcome,” she said.

“It’s. Always nice to visit, too,” he said after another moment. “It’s just… so peaceful here. Even when Kon was--” he broke off. “When he wasn’t here, it felt like this was a place where none of  _ that  _ existed. But I feel like-- he’s back, now, but it makes  _ more  _ sense now. Like all of that stuff we do still exists, here, but it’s a place where it can be turned off. Where Kon can just be himself, instead of  _ Superboy,  _ and maybe I can just be  _ Tim.  _ You know?”

Martha smiled. “I think I do.” She paused filled a cup of coffee from the pot. When she set it in front of Tim, he smiled: a tiny, real smile.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Easiest coffee order I ever have to remember,” Martha said. “Same as your ol’ Daddy’s.”

Tim’s silence after that was more pronounced than usual, like the surprise was a new kind. Tim blinked twice and took a deep breath, and then he glanced up at Martha and ducked his head. “Sorry. I was just surprised. It’s-- it’s still weird, people calling him my Dad.” He took a long drink. Martha turned back to the stove.

“I’ve seen how much he cares for you,” she said. “He may not have a clue half the time, but he clearly loves all you boys to bits.” Tim chuckled.

“Clueless, all right,” he said. After a pause there came the sound of the coffee mug hitting the table again, and Tim said, “Has he visited recently?”

Martha chuckled. “Once, since you found him. It’s funny-- he actually asked me the same thing. If I’d seen you.”

Another pronounced pause. “What did you tell him?” Tim asked.

“The truth, of course,” Martha said. “That I hadn’t seen you since before he’d gone off and everyone thought he was dead. Terrible business, that.”

“Don’t remind me.” Tim’s voice was tight. “Can I ask… how was he?”

“Haven’t you talked to him?” Martha asked. She turned around in time to see him swallow.

“Not recently,” he said. “Not a lot. It’s been… busy. For everyone.”

Ah. Martha turns back to face the stove before she frowns. “You bats. All of you seem to have such a hard time slowing down.”

“Tell me about it.” Tim sighed. There was silence for a few moments after that. Conner came through long enough to ruffle Tim’s hair again and take out the trash. Martha put the lid on the gravy and checked on the biscuits. A few moments after that, they were cooling on the kitchen table next to a neat stack of plates and Martha was leaning out the door to call Jon.

“Get some food in you, Tim,” she says, stepping back inside, “and then we’ll see about that woodchopping.”

“That sounds ominous.” Conner appeared at the kitchen sink, already turning on the tap. “Punching crooks in Gotham not up to par these days, Rob? Needing manual labor to compensate?”

“Heh,” Tim said. “Maybe. Maybe having one of Bruce Wayne’s charity cases in anger management would be bad PR.”

“Maybe you Bats all need therapy,” Conner shot back. Tim held his coffee mug up in a toast to that. Jon came in the kitchen door and waved to Tim, said something about shaking his hand after his own were clean. Conner shook his hands off and accepted a mug of coffee from Martha, and then he claimed the seat next to Tim. “Talk to me,” he said.

“After,” Tim said. “I like my appetite where it is.”

“You know what,” Conner said, “I can respect that.”

===

The axe handle felt rough in a way that the tools of the Gotham trade never did. It felt real-- so did his own tools, but this was different. Grounded. It felt better even before Tim took the first swing.

“Have you done this before?” Conner asked from the porch.

“Once,” Tim replied. He rested a section of log on a larger section of log, waited for it to steady, and swung the axe. 

_ Chop.  _ Two halves of a log fell to the ground. Tim left the axe a moment and picked up another section of log. He picked up the axe and put the fresh log in its place. Steady. Swing.  _ Chop.  _ Two more halves of a log fell to the ground.

“Must have had quite an impact on you,” Conner said. “To fly across the country at three in the morning to chop wood.”

“Something like that.” Tim grabbed two logs, laid one on the ground next to his chopping block, and placed the other for chopping. It was unsteady, cut lopsided. Tim turned it over. It would have to do. 

“When?” Conner asked. 

Tim swallowed. He took a deep breath and let it out before he swung the axe. 

“After you died,” he said. “Bruce brought me here.”  _ Chop. Thud.  _ Conner hissed through his teeth: sympathy.

“I’m sorry,” he said. Tim picked up the second log and found that his hands were shaking. He put it down and started picking up the chopped sections instead.

“It’s not your fault,” he said. “People die. You went down fighting, which is the best we can do in our line of business short of staying alive.”

Conner said, “Hm.”

He said, “but I was still gone. And it still hurt a lot of people. So I’m still sorry.”

“And half the times I see you, it still feels like a punch in the face that you’re alive,” Tim replied. He dumped the chopped sections on the woodpile. “In a good way. That was a shitty metaphor.”

Connor laughed. “I think I got the picture. So what, was Bruce being an idiot? Coffee burnt? Did the amber waves of grain torment you?” Tim snorted.

“Believe it or not, Kon, I do know something about the world beyond the concrete jungle,” he said. “No. It was… I don’t know. All of a sudden everything felt unfair. And I didn’t know what to do with any of it.” He picked the axe up again. Breathe. Swing.  _ Chop. Thud.  _ It felt good. It had felt good then, too. It was a direct line: brain, muscle, swing, result. No blood. No pain. Results that meant something good for someone. He went through four more logs before Kon spoke again.

“So this time-- it must have been pretty bad, then. To get you all the way out here.”

“Understatement, probably?” Tim said. Swing.  _ Chop. Thud.  _ Last-minute call to the airport, last-minute swing past the Nest, just long enough to ditch the suit and throw on the first civvies he could find. Last minute cases put on hold until he could  _ think  _ again. “Just… you know. Nothing’s fair, nothing makes sense, no one’s talking to each other.” Swing.  _ Chop. Thud.  _ “I don’t know. Sometimes it just… it feels like Dad…not Bruce.  _ Dad _ died and it tipped over a line of dominoes that never stop. Everything just keeps going.” Swing.  _ Chop. Thud.  _ Jack Drake took his coffee with cream. Tim Wayne took his coffee just like his Dad did, apparently.

“Have you talked to Bats at all?” Kon asked. “I dunno. He probably knows about the world spiralling out of control.”

“ _ Bruce _ ,” Tim said. Swing.  _ Chop. Thud.  _ “Bruce hasn’t been in Gotham in two months. And I know he’s still upset about the Boomerang business. And Dick’s set up shop in the manor again, so I can’t exactly camp out and wait for Bruce to come back into town. The brat would think I was trying to infringe on his territory.”

“In all fairness,” Kon said, “It was your territory first.”

“Try saying that to Bruce’s “real son”,” Tim snarled. Swing.  _ Chop. Thud.  _ In his mind’s eye, he fell. 

“I would have been fine with another kid around,” he said. “I would have been cool with having another brother.” Swing.  _ Chop. Thud.  _ “But no, both of my options have tried to murder me. Kon.” He pauses. “If Clark and Lois have another kid, please don’t be a dick to them.”

Kon gawks at him. Then he says, “I can do not being a dick.”

“Good. Thanks.” Swing.  _ Chop. Thud.  _ “The world needs more brothers who aren’t dicks.” 

“Pun not intended?” Kon asked. Tim kicked a section of log out of the way and rolled his eyes.

“Oh, no, he gives it a double meaning,” he said. He set up another log. Dick.  _ Dick.  _ Swing.  _ Chop. Thud.  _ “I don’t know how he can be so well-meaning and yet so clueless.” He paused. “No, nevermind, I know.” 

“Comes by it honestly, right?” Kon said. He snickered. Tim shook his head, but he smiled a bit, too. 

“Unfortunately, yes,” he said. “Apple, tree, you know.” Swing.  _ Chop. Thud.  _

“Does an apple a day keep the Joker away?” Kon asked.

“Hmph,” Tim said. “I wish.” 

“Maybe you should call Bruce,” Kon said after another moment. “With, you know, that marvelous modern invention. Phones. Always an option.”

Tim lowered the axe to glare at him. “Just. Call him.”

“Uh, yeah,” Kon said. “He’s your  _ Dad  _ now. If he doesn’t pick up, you get to call him out for being a shitty one. And if that doesn’t work, I fly to Gotham and kick his ass.”

“You’d do that for me?” Tim lowered the axe head to the ground and leaned against the handle. Kon flapped his hand like it was nothing. 

“Course. You’re my best friend, too. Clone Boy needs his Robin, y’know?”

Tim pushed his sweaty hair out of his eyes. “Yeah, I guess he does.” He picked the axe up again and chopped the remaining log clean down the middle. As it fell to the sides, he set the axe down and set to picking up the chopped sections again. They went to the chopped pile. Tim’s arms were starting to ache, now that he paused long enough to think about it. His t-shirt was sticking to his shoulders. His hoodie was lying on the stairs where he’d left it, knowing it would do more harm and good while he was chopping. 

He sat down between his hoodie and Kon. Kon scooted a bit closer and wrapped his arm around Tim’s shoulders.

Tim said, “Thanks, man.” 

Kon was smiling as he said, "No problem, buddy."

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this-- or even if you didn't-- I strongly recommend going to check out all of Audrey's Cor et Cereberum series. It's delightful stuff. Thanks for reading!


End file.
